Wake Me Up
by ForeverSmiling
Summary: READ THE DESCRIPTION INSIDE. Dr. Jane Watson never imagined her life with the consulting detective would be so insane. When a case goes horribly wrong, things start to spin out of control. Will their friendship be able to survive what is to come? Rated M/Trigger warning for graphic rape scene.
1. Through the Darkness

**I am back after almost five years of no writing. Please keep reading to fully understand where I am coming from with this story. A couple of thing:**

 **1\. I recently read my old stories and I realized how I would have done some of my old stories differently. In particular, "The Reason/Waiting For the End to Come."**

 **2\. I made John a female for this story as a way to rewrite The Reason. I am writing this story with a different plot line, so that story is supposed to have never happened.**

 **3\. Some elements of this story will be the same. As a fair warning, there WILL BE a future rape scene. Consider this a trigger warning.**

* * *

This is it. We have got him now. The kidnapper has been traced to an abandoned underground tube stop and Sherlock and I have already phoned Lestrade. He is on his way with the boy's father. Sherlock maintains his usual attitude and demeanor as we climb down the ladder leading to the point of action. Sherlock was able to deduce from the ransom note that it was written underground, due to the distinct water marks and smell on the paper. He realized it would be a tube stop, due to the isolation and outline of the tracks. At least, that is what I think he said. Once we are down the ladder and in the sewer, Sherlock draws the layout of the sewer from his mind palace and deduces the two possible ways for him to get to the location that the child is in.

"Jane, on the left and down that way, there is a tunnel that wraps around the back of the stop. Go that way, I am going the other way. We will corner him."

"Are you sure that is a good idea?"

"Just do it!" Despite my hesitations, I set off. I follow his instructions and go off to the left and through a door. I draw my gun and go down a rather long corridor. The corridor opens up at the end and I can hear someone talking. They sound rather threatening and it seems as though he is talking to a small child, because a much softer voice follows right after he speaks, the smaller voice sounds like he is afraid. It is the kidnapper and the child. I hold still until I hear something changing. I normally do not come out until I hear Sherlock nearby. He has gone quiet now. I am frozen in place, listening for any indication that Sherlock is nearby. A few minutes go by, but I can hear is the faint echo of silence. After a few more moments, I finally hear running footsteps and a man yell out.

"Oi, you stop right there!" I step out of the shadows to see the man standing up on the other side of the tracks and out of my reach. His back is to me and Sherlock is in front of him. Off to the side, I can see the child. He is shivering and leaning against the wall. My gun is drawn and trained on the kidnapper, but I do not alert him to my presence. The kidnapper's gun is trained on the child. Sherlock's face is very calculating. He is planning his next move. I carefully look at the tracks between us and I am sure that I can clear it. Sherlock is silent, but the man speaks up again.

"Take one more step and he dies." Sherlock is still, but he slowly starts to put his hand up as if pleading with the kidnapper. He starts to speak.

"Just let the boy go. He's all we want."

"Not until I get my money. Find the boy's father and get me my money!" The man was shouting quite loudly, but Sherlock was unmoved and not shaken by this. His eyes met mine and he nodded his head slightly. He had his plan and he was ready to set it in motion. Without hesitation, I shouted out in order to gain the kidnapper's attention.

"Hey!"

The kidnapper spins around quickly and moves his gun away from the child for a split second. That split second is what Sherlock was counting on. He charged forward and attempted to grab the gun out of the man's hand. I keep my gun trained on him, but I do not fire due to the struggle. I look again at the tracks between us. With a running start, I leap over the tracks and onto the other side. Just as I do so, the man drops the gun and they both fall to the floor in order to reach for it. In an attempt to block the man from reaching the gun, Sherlock shifts his body to the side and falls on top of the gun, making it tilt upwards slightly. The gun fires. Sherlock gives me an opening and I hit the man in the head with the back of my gun, knocking him out. Just as I do, Lestrade comes in with backup. Sherlock gets up and stares at the man on the floor. It takes us a few moments to process what has happened before we hear someone start shouting.

"Matthew! Oh my God, Matthew!"

We both turn towards the voice to see a middle aged man with glasses running over to a small pile by the wall. I place my hands over my mouth as I realize that the small pile is the limp body of Matthew, that man's son. Sherlock's expression changes to shock as he realizes it as well. Sherlock miscalculated. He fell on the gun and it fired. The silence in the area is drowned out by the man's uncontrollable sobbing. The boy's father looks down at the gun for a moment, then he looks up at me and Sherlock. His expression changes slightly from sadness to anger. Sherlock walks past me and over to Lestrade. He says something to him that I cannot hear, then he motions for me to follow him. I look back to see Lestrade restraining the still unconscious man and several officers attempting to pry the man off of his son's body. I catch up to Sherlock and we are silent as we begin our walk back to Baker Street.


	2. Beating Heart

Silence continued to fill the room as Sherlock and I sat in our flat. Something like this has never happened to us before. He has never miscalculated his moves like that. He will not show it, but it is hurting him. His eyes are shut, but he is on the couch sitting up with his hands woven together and resting under his chin. I am sitting in the armchair with my back to the kitchen. For several minutes, there is still only silence. I know him, he is thinking of any possible way it could have ended differently. Or quite possibly, he is contemplating the idea of time travel. Much like him at this moment, I keep thinking of what I could have done as well. I must have jumped too late. I should have gone to the other side sooner. Maybe my diversion was not good enough. Instead of shouting, I could have jumped and tried to tackle him. It was my fault. I was just not fast enough. That poor father, all he wanted was to see his son alive and safe. We promised him that we would get him back. I do not know if I am ever going to live with myself after this. There is not much I want to say right now, so I do the only thing I can think of. I simply retreat to my bedroom. It is around 10:30pm, so I have no plans to come back out. I am not sure what Sherlock will be doing for the rest of the night. Slowly, I let myself drift off into sleep.

The next morning, I am awakened by the sun breaking through my curtains. I sit up and try to listen for movement outside my bedroom. I can hear Sherlock walking to the kitchen. I get out of bed and prepare to get dressed for the day. I slip on a long-sleeved, gray sweater dress, black stockings, and gray, heeled boots. Upon exiting my bedroom, I see Sherlock making tea in the kitchen. I go to the bathroom and fix my hair properly. My shoulder-length hair takes a minimal amount of time to untangle. I do not put any makeup on. After I am done in the bathroom, I go into the kitchen to find Sherlock sitting at the table drinking his morning tea. He's made me a cup as well. I take the cup and sit down across from him. The events of yesterday are still fresh in our minds. Sherlock does not even acknowledge my presence. He must think it is my fault too. He is wearing his usual casual suit and is sipping his tea silently. After a few more silent moment, I finally speak up for the first time since last night.

"Should we go to Scotland Yard? Greg probably wants our statements."

He does not make eye contact. Instead, he places his mug down and nods his head. Wordlessly, he stands up and places his cup in the sink. I stand up as well and prepare to walk downstairs. Sherlock steps in front of me and walks down the stairs first. I follow after him. I watch his movements as we exit the flat and he hails a cab. His expression remains the same. He almost looks as though nothing is bothering him. For all I know, that may be true. I doubt it, though. I want to say something. I want to know where we went wrong. Or if he thinks it is my fault. The cab pulls up and he gets into it first. I follow him inside and we take off towards Scotland Yard. Sherlock's eyes are fixed onto the window next to him. I feel uncomfortable, but quite frankly, I deserve it. My discomfort is nothing compared with the immense pain and grieving that I have put this boy's father through. The thoughts I have going through my head are probably also minimal compared to the amount of blame Sherlock places on me. It is so tough to read him. The remainder of the ride is all around the same, just filled with silence.

We arrive at Scotland Yard and make our way inside. As we walk over to Lestrade's office, Sally is sitting at her desk nearby. She glances in our direction and gives us her usual sour look. It is a bit different than usual, though. It looks a bit more alarming than how she normally looks at us. There is a clear look of anger in her eyes. Sherlock does not look at her, but he does not have to. She looks directly at me and shakes her head in what I can only guess is absolute disgust. She has tried before to get Lestrade to stop allowing us to assist in these cases. Usually Lestrade just ignores her. This time, I am afraid that she might actually get her wish. Sherlock knocks on Lestrade's door and he says aloud to come in. We walk into his office and he looks up from his desk and sighs. We sit down and he starts to speak.

"I was just about to call you."

"I figured you would want to talk to us today." I reply back. Lestrade nods his head and leans back in his chair.

"So, can you guys tell me exactly what happened before we got there?"

I am not sure if I should respond first or if Sherlock should, so we both remain silent once again. I look over at him briefly and he is shifting uncomfortably in his chair. It takes him a few more moments, but Sherlock takes the first initiative and speaks up. It is the first time he has spoken since last night.

"We had him. After we phoned you, we went into the sewer to try and trap him. There were two possible ways to get to his location, so I suggested we split up to reach both sides. While Jane was going around the back way, I went in the direction that the kidnapper would be statistically more likely to be facing. When I made it to the end of the tunnel, I heard the man talking to the child. I ran out and he drew his gun on me. After a few moments, he aimed his gun at the child instead."

Sherlock shifts once again and looks over at me for a split second. He is indicating that he wants me to talk. I look to Lestrade and speak up.

"The man yelled at Sherlock to stop moving and I stepped out from the other side to see what was going on. I could not get directly to where they were, because there were tracks separating us. I had my gun drawn on the kidnapper. Sherlock looked at me for a diversion, so I shouted out in order to gain his attention. When he turned around, Sherlock dashed forward and tried to wrestle the gun out of the man's hand. While they were struggling, I leapt over the tracks and onto the other side. Just as I did, they fell on the gun and that's when-"

I do not finish my last sentence. I swallow and look down at my hands. Lestrade was listening to everything we said. He writes down what we have been saying. Sherlock speaks up once again.

"Where is the boy's father?"

Lestrade looks up at Sherlock and slightly shakes his head.

"After you two left, he was on the floor with his son for another hour or so. My officers tried to get him off, but he would not let his son go. We took him to the hospital to make sure he wouldn't do anything destructive. He stayed in the hospital all night with his son, right up until they look the boy to the morgue. In the morning, the doctors said that he vanished. He wasn't in the room and he wasn't in the morgue. I sent some officers to his flat, but he wasn't there either."

Sherlock furrows his brow slightly.

"Is he on suicide watch?"

"As of right now, yes. We've got people out there looking for him."

I still do not say anything. Sherlock and I look at each other, but remain silent. Lestrade looks at both of us and speaks up once again.

"Look guys, I know what you might be thinking. Let me just say, what happened was not your fault. You could not have known that this would happen"

We both look up at Lestrade. I am not sure about Sherlock, but I am looking at Lestrade in confusion. How can he not believe that this is my fault? Everything that has happened suggests otherwise. I stand up and prepare to leave.

"I don't think I can talk about this anymore. Good morning, Greg. Sherlock, I'm getting my own cab home. I'll see you later."

I open the door to exit the room and notice Sherlock looking over at me with a look of curiosity. I do not give either of them time to respond. I walk right past Sally's desk without looking at her. Outside, I sit on a nearby bench for a few moments. In a strange way, I almost hope that Sherlock had come running after me. Perhaps to say to me that everything was going to be alright and that everything would go back to normal. He never comes out, though. He is probably still talking to Lestrade about last night. I only sit on the bench for a couple of minutes before I stand back up and hail a cab home.


	3. Where the Journey Will End

Sherlock does not come back to the flat for another few hours. Once he does come back, I am sitting in my usual armchair on my phone. I look over at him and he makes eye contact with me. He adjusts his suit jacket and sits across from me. I put my phone down and look at him. He does not say much, but he does start the discussion.

"Are you alright?"

I do not know what to say. I feel like I should go on about how much I blame myself, but I want to avoid making the situation too much about me.

"I suppose I will be." I reply back. "Sherlock, what went wrong?"

He shifts in his seat again before answering.

"I don't know. I think my coat got caught on the trigger when I fell on it. It was my fault."

My expression changes. After all of the silence and all of the stress, it turns out he blames himself, just like me. I look down for a moment, but look back up at him again.

"Sherlock, how are we supposed to keep doing this? Look at what has happened. I mean, what do we do now?"

"What we always do. We go on living. There is nothing we can do to change the past. Dwelling on it will not bring that little boy back."

He is calm as he explains this to me. He is much stronger than I am emotionally. I can understand why he is being so strong about this, because he is used to it. I wish I could say that I am just as unaffected by this as he is.

"How do you do it, Sherlock? When things go wrong like this, how can you possibly go on like nothing has happened?"

Sherlock gives me a serious look before answering.

"Because, Jane, this is what my life is all about. Ever since I started doing this, I have had cases go wrong and I have had serious dangers presented to me. I am just doing what I can. After a few cases like this, you learn to simply deal with whatever is presented to you."

"Do you mean that you have had cases go wrong like this before?"

He sighs deeply.

"Yes, when I was first starting out."

I have been taught for my whole life that there is always hope, no matter what, but I cannot imagine the hope that we have torn away from the father last night. Sherlock can brush it off like it is nothing.

"Where do we fit into this world, Sherlock? How can we be like everyone else, but still be the people that are called upon for help?"

He looks up sharply, almost in an annoyed way.

"Do not get philosophical on me, Jane. We are not like other people. At least, I'm not. We cannot change what happened, so do not attempt to insinuate that we should stop what we do. You are more than welcome to stop doing these cases with me, but I am afraid that trying to convince me to stop will not work."

"Sherlock-"

"Was there anything else, Jane?"

I do not immediately answer him. I am thinking of far too much right now to argue with him. Although, I was not trying to convince him to stop. Rather, I wanted to understand what his thought process was. I answer him with a very serious tone.

"Give me something, then."

He squints his eyes at me slightly, trying to understand what I am getting at.

"What do you mean?"

"Give me a reason to keep doing this. Give me any reason at all why continuing on this path is good for me."

Sherlock lowers his head slightly, but keeps his eyes fixed on me.

"I cannot give you a reason for yourself. You have to come up with one on your own. I will say this, though. You nor I cannot and will not ever be able to predict these types of things. There is no practice, there is only one chance to get it right. We just happened to miss that chance this time. Do not think that it didn't bother me, because it did. Every case that goes wrong makes it worse for me too. And in a way, I have actually enjoyed having you around." He says that last part with a slight smile. I know that he is trying to lighten the mood.

I remain seated and breathe out. I know that I would most likely not stop doing cases with him, because I know that he is right. We will go on living as we always do. There are many twists and bends to what we do, but I know that for the most part, we do good things for people.

"You're right, Sherlock. We'll get along."

He smiles at me and gets up to go to the kitchen.

"Do you want any food? I haven't eaten anything all day."

"Sure." I say with a smile. "That sounds great."


	4. Caught Up in a Dream

Several months have gone by and things have pretty much gone back to normal, whatever "normal" is. Sherlock and I have taken a few cases and we have kept ourselves quite busy. This week, it's been slower than usual and we have been doing anything we can to stay occupied. Sherlock has been teaching me the different tricks to getting out of restraints and we have both been practicing all day. I decide to take a break and I sit on my usual armchair. Sherlock is on a chair in the middle of the room with his hands cuffed behind him and he is attempting to pick the lock with a small hairpin. It does not take him long to release himself from the handcuffs, maybe only two or three minutes. Afterwards, he stands up and rubs his wrists. He looks over at me.

"Well, that was boring. I believe that we have made excellent progress, though. Would you like another go?"

I have been thinking about something for a little while now, so this seems like the perfect opportunity to bring it up to Sherlock.

"Actually Sherlock, I want to do something different."

Sherlock looks over at me curiously.

"Oh, and what would that be?"

I lean forward eagerly.

"I want you to teach me how to do your mind palace trick."

Sherlock sits down across from me and crosses his legs. He seems to think for a moment.

"It's just a memory technique." He states this calmly, as if it is something he does not want to teach me.

"No, it's more than that. I've seen the things you can do with that mind palace of yours. It's like you place yourself in some sort of trance. I want to learn how you do it."

"Why would you want to learn that?"

I simply shrug my shoulders.

"Maybe I'll need it one day."

Sherlock leans forward.

"Very well. Let's begin. The first thing you need to do is clear your mind of all surroundings. Block out any background noise or actions. Now, envision a place. It can be any place, whether it be a street, a house, or a basement. If there is something that you wish to remember, put it in that place. Put it on something like a shelf or a desk, so that if you look over to that shelf or desk you will always remember to see that item. Allow yourself to become immersed in your location of choice. It would be best to make it a place that is meaningful to you. You can put anything in your mind palace. People, objects, past memories, or even your own emotions. Would you like to try it?"

It seems like a lot to take in. Quite frankly, it is. I knew it had something to do with memory, but it seems so much more involved than I had initially thought.

"Um, yeah. I'll give it a shot."

I close my eyes and try to drown out the noise. So far, I can hear the sound of the street and the people outside. I focus on the memories I have from Afghanistan and think of my childhood home. Slowly, I cannot hear the street as loudly anymore. I can see myself walking into my parent's house. Suddenly, I am startled by a loud gunshot next to me. My eyes quickly open and I am so startled that I fall out of my chair. I look up to see Sherlock putting a bullet in the wall.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What on earth is the matter with you?"

Sherlock looks over at me with a slight grin on his face and lowers his gun.

"As I mentioned before, Jane, you must clear your mind of any and all distractions. You need to be able to ignore something as loud and aggressive as a gun firing."

I get up off the floor and brush myself off.

"Yes, well maybe I would if it wasn't fired right next to my bloody head!"

Sherlock stifles another laugh and places his gun on the coffee table.

"A gun can be fired from anywhere, Jane. You have to learn to tune that stuff out."

Almost as if on cue, Lestrade walks into the flat and looks at both of us.

"Is everything alright in here? I heard a gunshot on my way up."

Sherlock looks at Lestrade and shrugs his shoulders.

"I was just teaching Jane how to ignore the sound of a bullet. I'm assuming you have a case for me?"

Lestrade rolls his eyes and breathe out.

"Yes, I have another kidnapping case for you."

Sherlock and I look at each other expectantly, as if we would prefer the other one to answer first. Eventually, Sherlock simply looks down to the floor. I am the one who speaks up.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Greg? I thought we were taking a break from those kind of cases for a while."

"Yeah, well it's been a while already. Plus, there's something different about this one. It's been an open case for about a month now."

Sherlock looks up at Lestrade, as if he had said something strange.

"A kidnapping case that's been open for a month? What makes you think the child is still alive?"

Lestrade lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Because there is more than one victim. We believe that the same man has taken at least three young boys. Will you come?"

We look at each other once more. As much as we do not want to take on another kidnapping case, we both know that we cannot ignore the lives of these children. Sherlock looks over at Lestrade and simply nods his head. Lestrade nods back and turns to leave the flat. There is silence as he leaves and we prepare to follow him to Scotland Yard.


	5. Open My Eyes

The cab ride to Scotland Yard was difficult. Memories from a few months ago came flooding back like it happened yesterday. In reality, it really did not happen that long ago, but it felt like I had blocked it out. It is almost as if I had forgotten about everything that happened. I do not know if Sherlock felt the same way as I did, but after the first few nights when the incident happened, we never talked about it again. We carried on living, just as we said we would. In a way, I feel guilty about moving on from this so quickly. I know Sherlock said to just carry on, but I feel like that is much easier for him to do then most people. He has been acting normal for the whole cab ride and I cannot tell if he has truly moved on or if he is hiding his emotions.

We arrive at Scotland Yard and head for Lestrade's office. Sally is on the phone and either does not notice or does not acknowledge out arrival. We have had a few cases since the incident that all went well, so things around here have pretty much gone back to normal. We approach Lestrade's office and knock on the door. He is also on the phone, but he manages to pull away from his phone call for a moment and tell us to come in. We sit across from him and wait for him to finish his phone call. I do not know what he is talking about. To be honest, I am not really listening. Once he finishes the call, he hangs up the phone and puts his head in his hands. He looks up at us and leans back in his chair.

"Okay, you two. Are you ready for the details?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock was the first to respond, not showing much emotion.

"Sure. What are we dealing with?"

"In the past month, three young boys no older than 8 years old have gone missing. We have a feeling that these kidnappings might be linked."

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock replied.

"They have all been kidnapped in the same scenario. They are picked up directly from school by someone in their car. We are assuming that they are luring them into the car somehow, either by offering them something or stating they are picking them up on behalf of their parents."

"What do we know about the kidnapper?"

"Not much. Witnesses have said that the children were last seen going into a black Mercedes. No one thought to take down the license plate number. We haven't gotten any ransom note or indication whether the children are alive or not." At this point, I decide to chime in.

"Doesn't seem like much to go on." It seems harsh, but it's the truth. We have done several of these types of cases and there is usually some kind of message that the kidnapper has left behind. The fact that there are no leads on who the kidnapper might be makes it more likely that the children are not alive. "Is there anything about the three boys that may link them together?"

Lestrade goes into the drawer of his desk and pulls out three sheets of paper. On the sheets of paper are the names, photos, and families of the three missing boys. One by one, Lestrade goes through them.

"The first one to go missing was seven year old Aidan Lowe. He was last seen at his school and a witness reported him talking to a man in a car. Eventually, Aidan climbed in the car and it drove off. He hasn't been seen since."

The photo of Aidan looked as though it was a school photo. He has short blonde hair and freckles. It is hard for me to look at these photos, but I remain stoic as Lestrade points to the next photo.

"This one's name is Oliver Kelly. He is eight years old and was last seen leaving his school. No one reported seeing him get into a car, but he never made it home and his parents called the police a few hours after school got out."

Oliver's hair was slightly darker, but still relatively blonde. This boy is wearing glasses in his photo and it looks like a candid shot from a family photo. I look over to the last photo before Lestrade can start talking. Another boy with blonde hair and a pale complexion. This photo looks as though it were taken in his home. Lestrade motions to his photo.

"This last boy's name is Joey Molina. He is six years old and he was last seen by his teacher walking towards the school transit. The driver of the transit said he does not remember Joey ever getting on the bus."

Sherlock decides to speak up. He still has not shown a lot of emotion, but I suppose I should be used to that by now.

"Do they all go to the same school?"

"Yes. We've had a car parked outside of the school for a few days now, but no activity yet."

"Sherlock." I say, looking at the three photos. "Haven't you noticed that the three boys look rather alike?"

Sherlock looks over the three photos and nods in agreement.

"You're right, Jane. All three boys have blonde hair, a rather pale complexion, and freckles. This could be a connection. We need to go to the school and look around the sidewalk where the children were abducted. Lestrade, have you gone to the school?"

"We have and we didn't find anything, but you two go and have a look. Perhaps we've missed something."

Lestrade gives us the address of the school and me and Sherlock stand up and prepare to leave. Taking on another case like this is not something I was hoping for. I know that we have moved on, but I cannot shake this feeling that something may go wrong again. Sherlock exits Lestrade's office before I do, but I pause for a moment and turn back around to face him.

"Greg, the last kidnapping case we did. Did they ever find the boy's father after he disappeared?"

Lestrade takes a long, exasperated breath.

"Yeah. He was on the brink of death when we found him. He ran off into that abandoned power station and tried to overdose on pills. We carted him off to a hospital and got his stomach pumped. Last I heard, he was in the psych ward, but that was about a month ago."

Although I feel on the brink of tears, I thank Lestrade for the information and close the door behind me on my way out. I have to take a moment to lean against the wall next to his office. To think that my actions caused someone to not only lose their son, but drive someone to attempt suicide is something that I cannot fully process. I don't know how I will be able to do this case with a straight mind, but I will have to pull through for Sherlock. I don't know how he is handling everything, but I probably won't tell him what happened to the last boy's father for now. He needs to keep a clear head for this case.


	6. Didn't Know I Was Lost

I managed to go outside just as Sherlock waved down a cab. Sherlock was going on about how we need to go to the school and search for clues as to the whereabouts of the children, but I was barely listening. I cannot stop thinking about what Lestrade said about the last case. I am trying to shut it out as best as I can, but nothing seems to be working. Sherlock keeps talking in the background, but I am not comprehending anything he is saying. It's almost like I am doing his mind palace trick, but this is not a memory that I want to store. I manage to snap myself out of it once we arrive at the school. I know Sherlock must sense my discomfort, but he is probably ignoring it. Once we step out of the cab, I try to regain my senses and actively listen to what he is saying.

"We need to scan the area where the school transit picks the children up and where the parents usually go with their cars."

It was some time before school got out, so we had a good amount of time to look over the sidewalk and road before it was flooded by cars. We stand outside by the sidewalk and I stand by as Sherlock kneels down on the ground and looks for anything that may indicate what happened. I look around and approach the road. There are tire marks in the pavement that fade out just as they leave the school. I turn around to see Sherlock still on the ground.

"Sherlock, there are loads of children that walk around here every day. Any evidence will be gone. Come and look at this."

Sherlock stands up and walks over to the road where he notices the tire marks. He looks over where they begin to where they end.

"As you said, these could be any tire marks. Loads of cars come around here."

"It's the only thing right now that we have to go on." I replied with. Sherlock sighs and pulls out his phone. He takes a few pictures of the tire marks and puts his phone in his pocket.

"It's no use to keep looking around. There have been too many cars coming through and any evidence will have been washed out. Let's return to Baker Street and I will look into what kind of tires these are."

Despite him saying this, we poke around for a little while longer until the transit system starts to arrive. We didn't get anything else of interest, but Sherlock wanted to be as thorough as possible. Once we arrived home, Sherlock went right to work on his computer looking up different tire patterns and what car it could possibly belong to. This was a long shot, but it is worth a try to find the missing children.

I cannot concentrate for much longer, because I am still bothered by what happened at Scotland Yard. I think I need to find the father from our last kidnapping case.

"Sherlock, I am going to step out for a little while." Sherlock only grunts to acknowledge me and I walk down the stairs and outside. I dial Lestrade's number and he answers after only a few rings.

"Hello, Jane. What can I do for you?"

"Hey Greg. Listen, I was wondering if you could give me the name of the hospital that Matthew's father went to. I wanted to try and see him."

Lestrade was silent for a few moments, probably trying to take in my request.

"I see. Are you sure that's a good idea, Jane? He probably doesn't want to see you two."

"I would be going by myself. Sherlock doesn't know that I am doing this."

"Well, even if I released the name of the hospital, they probably wouldn't release any of his information to you. Let me do some research and I'll get back to you."

"Thank you, Greg."

I hang up with Lestrade and head back upstairs. Once I walk through the door, Sherlock stands up and faces me with eagerness.

"Jane, I've made a discovery about the tire marks on the road. The pattern of the tired are unique and exclusive to a Mercedes C300, just the type of car that Lestrade said the kidnapper may have been driving."

This is great news! Now that we have narrowed down the vehicle, we will be able to narrow down the list of possible suspects and try and find the kidnapper.

"Sherlock, that is brilliant! What should we do now?"

"I'm texting Lestrade now with the information and telling him to go through the criminal database to see if there is anyone in it that owns this type of vehicle. For now, we will have to wait to see what he says."

I am elated that we have made a break in this case, especially this early. This gives the children a fighting chance to see their families again. I go and sit down in my armchair, relieved that we have made some progress. Sherlock sits across from me, with a similar sigh of relief. Even still, with everything that has been going on, it is difficult to be satisfied with our progress. Something has been eating away at me ever since the last case that I never brought up. It may not be the best time, but this is something that needs to be said.

"Sherlock…" He looks over at me with his usual stoic face. "Do you think things would be different if things had worked out between us? And if we didn't lose…"

I trail off, not wanting to finish my sentence. I don't even have to, because he knows what I mean. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock remains still, but he does take a deep breath before answering.

"Jane, we agreed that we wouldn't discuss this anymore. What happened between us was a long time ago and rehashing old memories will only hinder the investigation."

My head remains down and for some reason I find looking at my shoes more appealing than looking him in the eyes. It has been a while since I've brought this up, but I cannot help feeling that if I hadn't lost my— I mean our, child, then perhaps things would have been handled differently. Perhaps the case wouldn't have gone wrong in the first place. I must be overthinking things again, but I cant help myself. I continued to stay with Sherlock as his partner for solving crimes, because I thought I would be able to put everything behind me. I know that it was much easier for Sherlock to let things go, but I guess I haven't completely moved on from what happened between us. I do not desire him in a romantic way, not anymore and not since everything happened. I just wish things were different. I can't explain it. I look back up at him and say the only thing that I can think of.

"Sorry. I won't bring it up again."


End file.
